Page 9 of Summer with My Sexy Ex
“A little,” I admit. “What difference does it make?”
“For starters, it usually means you aren’t thinking clearly.”
“Maybe I’m tired of thinking,” I say.
“You’re proving my point,” he says.
“Okay, well,you’vebeen drinking,” I accuse.
“Which also proves my point. Look,” he says. “It’s not you, it’s me.”
“Oh god.” I roll my eyes. “Not the INYIM speech. Give me a break.”
“I’m just, I’m on a people hiatus. Taking somemetime.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“In part, it means I’m not having sex.”
I find that hard to believe. “Like, now? Or ever?”
“Now, as far as everyone else is concerned. But with you? Ever. Never ever. I will never have sex with you, Bristol. I can’t. You’re…you.”
“That’s stupid.”
“And even if I would,” he continues. “You don’t want me as your first. You want that to be with someone you love.”
“I do love—”
He puts a finger over my lips to stop me. “And someone who loves you back.”
I don’t even have time to revel in his touch. The punch is to my gut. My ribs squeeze together, making it hard to breathe. I can’t swallow down the lump in my throat. My hands rub along my thighs to warm the sudden chill.
It’s all I can do to stem the tears threatening to fall.
He stands and leans over to kiss my forehead. It’s chaste, like something my dad would do.
Then he walks away.
Out of my closet and out of my life, leaving me to curl into a fetal position on the floor and try to figure out why he doesn’t desire me. Why he doesn’t love me.
And when I can’t find the answer, I make a vow to myself.
One day I will make Wyatt Reed want me. To the point where he’s out of his mind with lust. Crawling on his knees, like the dog that he is.
Except I like dogs.
And I’ve never seen one crawl.
I wanted to say snake, but they don’t have knees.
It doesn’t matter. It’s a metaphor.
Wait, it’s not a metaphor; it’s a simile.
Likethe dog is a simile.
Isa dog would be the metaphor.
